


The King, that stayed on the North

by ReZeta



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27790402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReZeta/pseuds/ReZeta
Summary: Robb is attacking slower, Joffrey dies earlier and he decides that war right before the winter is not worth it. An uneasy marriage ensues.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Robb Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	The King, that stayed on the North

  
"Lannisters are seeking peace."  
  
He said. Theon nodded, with a frozen face, too scared to actually react to it honestly. He never knew what the guy truly felt.  
  
Robb looked at the letter from Tywin Lannister again.  
  
They indeed were seeking peace. Stannis Baratheon was coming closer and closer to King's Landing, and they could not afford to fight him any longer.  
  
Not that he could, either.  
  
King of the North, they called him. King of the fucking North. He wasn’t supposed a king – he never even wanted to be one. He was raised to be a lord. He was raised to lead and shape the North, not to be its living embodiment.  
  
And yet, here he was. The King of the North. The King of Winter, first since Torrhen, the king who knelt.  
  
North was his home, and he loved it. Lord has to love his realm, after all. But it was so hard to love it sometimes.  
  
Umbers, rapists from the Last Hearth. Starks allowed them to keep old traditions in return for loyalty, sacrificing principles for practicality.  
  
Glover from the Deepwood Motte. When winter came, and space in the warm houses, as well as food, became limited, old men from there drank their last cup and went to the forest to never return. Starks chose not to notice - they had no food to spare, so why bother.  
  
Karstarks from the Karhold, kin, put there to oversee the clansmen. They put down a rebellion, slaughtering almost every man, woman, and child, and kept doing it for the next few centuries. Karstarks' hand was harsh, but they kept clansmen docile.  
  
Manderly, ever grateful and loyal to a fault - on the public. But they sat on all of the Northern silver and trade, and every time Starks tried to increase taxes they were firmly reminded about the fact.  
  
As for Boltons... well. Did he really need to say anything?  
  
All of them were defeated, put on the knees, and forced to blow to dragons, united in their fate. It was fair enough - dragons showed them strength, and so they bent the knee. There was not a single major rebellion against Torrhen's rule after that.  
  
Dragons were stronger, and so North knelt.  
  
Now the dragons were gone and it made sense to break away now. North always stood alone, after all, and there was no power that could bend or break it left.  
  
Except there was.  
  
'The winter is coming' - his great ancestor once said, and it became the motto of their house.  
  
It was coming indeed, really fast and really soon. He was supposed to be at Winterfell, stockpiling for the winter and getting the last harvest done, praying for it to be plentiful. Not in the Riverrun, burning through the supplies that were salvaged from Lannister’s army.  
  
During the reign of the Winter Kings, they did not expand into the South for a reason – lands beyond the Moat Cailin were almost impossible to hold, and Riverlands were between anything and everything, from Westerlands and Reach to Vale and Crownslands.  
  
Now they were half-burned, and needed to be rebuilt – and winter was coming.  
  
North has almost tripled in population since Torrhen’s reign. It saw not a single war on its soil, except for a few wildings insurrections, and the flow of food from the South was constant. It allowed people to live beyond the means that their harsh land provided to them.  
  
There will be no food coming from the South this time, after all, crops do not grow on burned fields. He will need to feed the Riverlands from the Northern stockpiles, and those were not enough to feed the North itself.  
  
He could win the war – he was winning battle after battle after battle, but what next? South will go through the winter easier. They have Reach, they have better land, probably they will even manage to finish the harvest this year.  
  
And when winter will be over, they will come to the North and take it without a single swing of the sword. A scrap of food will be enough to take it.  
  
Whoever will survive the winter will be too grateful for food to notice the lack of freedom.  
  
Perhaps it was Tully blood talking, but Robb had no illusions regarding his people. They were his, and he will die for them, but… Northerners were proud folk. Often too proud.  
  
His father was a good man. A loyal man, an honorable man, true to his word and oaths. He was not what people imagined when they thought ‘Stark’.  
  
If murmurs among his men were to be believed, he took too much from Jon Arryn, under whom he was raised.  
  
And it made sense – Arryn’s could afford to be honorable. Living beyond the clouds, behind three castles on top of the highest mountain, with the richest soil and plenty of food, they never knew danger or hunger. When the enemy came, they could simply close the gates to their vale – and wait. For generations, if needed.  
  
They could afford it.  
  
Not unlike North. Their defenses just were not that fancy. And their soil… snow is hardly a place to grow crops.  
  
Robb Stark, the King of Winter.  
  
What was he supposed to reign over? A barren wasteland of starved and starving?  
  
Eddard Stark would have never retreated. He would have retaliated – damn it, he did retaliate, just eighteen years ago – and would have taken the King’s Landing, avenging his father, and sister, and brother.  
  
Eddard Stark was dead, just like Richard. Bran was crippled for the rest of his life, not unlike Brandon. Girls… raped, probably. Mayhap with bastards. Hopefully alive.  
  
But winter was coming. He had already lost a third of his troops – in a Golden Tooth, in every battle that he won, pushing Lannisters back. They paid with three of their men for one of his, but they could afford the trade. They could throw good men to die and be happy with the exchange. Their fields had enough men for a harvest.  
  
He could not. Winter was coming, and Winterfell faced it without a Stark.  
  
His father was dead. He could not change that. He could not even avenge him properly and bring peace to his soul, for the man that killed him was also dead, poisoned on his very wedding.  
  
“Bring me paper and ink.”  
  
He whispered, through the clenched teeth.  
  
‘Forgive me, father. If you ever can.’  
  
For the **_winter was coming_**.  
  
North needed its children and food more than it needed vengeance.  
  
Theon handed the paper to him, looking strangely. There was a weird look on his face, something he could not quite understand. Not now, at least.  
  
“What will you take? Gold?”  
  
He felt a laugh bursting through his clenched teeth.  
  
‘Gold? Truly, Theon? What would I do with it?’  
  
He sighed. If he had to surrender…  
  
“They will fill our barns to the top, and then add some.”  
  
They will not return to the North with victory, but they will return with grain, meat, ale, and peace.  
  
He was a Stark, not Arryn.  
  
He was not as high as honor.  
  
\----  
  
So, what do you think? Comment please, it is in character for Robb or did I break him too much?


End file.
